


Juicy

by tjmystic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, The Fruit Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjmystic/pseuds/tjmystic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumple brings home a fruit that, unbeknownst to him, lowers the eaters inhibitions.  Unfortunately, Belle happens to be the eater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juicy

Juicy  
for tardisinwonderland

lumiereandpenumbra prompted: in the Demon Lexicon series, eating fever fruit lowers your inhibitions and makes you quite “affectionate”; Rumple accidentally leaves a few of the fruits in the castle’s kitchen

Rating: NC-17 (eventually)

Author’s Note: You all asked for it, now here you have it - the most detailed blowjob scene I could ever potentially write. Well, I say that, I could probably do a better one, but AS OF NOW, the most detailed blowjob scene I could ever potentially write! Hope it’s worth the wait, tardis!

 

Rumplestiltskin appeared in his tower in a cloud of smoke and dust. His dragonhide cloak, speckled with blood and unmentionable gunk, flailed in the wind behind him, barely concealing his disheveled hair or the fact that his boots were coming apart at the laces. Other than kicking some of the filth off, though, he paid it no mind – his eyes were fixed instead on something in one of his inner pockets. 

Hands twitching, he set his desk to work, magically mixing potions and flipping page after page of the dust tome beside them. Sweat touched his brow as his own fingers unclasped his cloak, rifling through the pockets with frenzied deliberation. It took him only a moment to find what he was searching for, and, with a nervous little nod, he shucked the fabric to the floor, and drew out a thick, heavy fruit the length of his forearm. 

A knife danced into his free palm as he stared, taking in the glowing, bright-orange rind. It had taken no small amount of effort, or bloodshed, to retrieve it, but the husk of the fruit shone as if it were untouched. But only for a moment. The next, the knife sliced cleanly through the top of it, dropping a chunk into the bowl below. 

Everything on the table went still. Fingers shaking, Rumple grabbed the concoction his magic had created and dangled it over the bowl. His breath stopped, every noise in the tower suddenly extinguished as he focused on his task. He didn’t move an inch except to close his eyes.

And then he poured it in. 

For a maddening moment, Rumple watched as nothing happened. But, slowly, the liquid tar began to ooze into the hunk of fruit, covering it, devouring it before his eyes. The orange flesh still glowed bright beneath it, though, entirely pure and untainted. His eyes went wide – this could be it. This could be the missing piece. The one thing keeping him from his son…

The liquid poofed, evaporating from the bowl in one clean motion and leaving on the fruit inside. It was no longer the bright, shining thing he’d picked up, though – all that remained was a shriveled, black raisin. 

Useless. 

Holding his head in his hands, Rumple collapsed onto the only chair in the room. He’d searched endless worlds for something to fill this one last role in his curse. Just one thing powerful enough to hold itself together as the darkness invaded. But, just as before, that search had been fruitless. 

A wry, humorless giggle left him as he tugged the remaining orange mass back into his hand. Poor choice of words. Every single muscle in his body ached, his claws were still prickling from the amount of magic he’d indulged in. He was still no closer to finding his Bae. And the only thing he had to show for all his efforts was a giant, useless fruit. 

He bashed his head against the wall and gripped the stupid thing a little tighter. If he didn’t have a bizarre soft-spot for that blasted hatter, he’d be stuck to the sole of his boot by now.

When the man had shown up in his foyer, his usual costume replaced by the most common clothes he’d ever seen, Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but be intrigued. He hadn’t seen him in nearly ten years, not since they’d pulled the wool over Regina’s eyes. So to see him now, brandishing his hat and claiming to have found a world made entirely of portals – portals which, with any luck, might lead to a land without magic – he jumped at the chance.

He scoffed and shucked his boots to the floor. Well, it was certainly full of portals. But not a single one of them yielded a land without magic, nor, more importantly, a world that Bae would’ve fallen into. Indeed, the land he’d eventually wound up in was little more than a warzone between magical cat-like creatures and a fleet of fucking fairies.

He’d found out very quickly from that point that all fairies - not just those in the Enchanted Forest - were preconditioned to hate him.

The filth on his boots seemed to sparkle at the thought, and he glared as he shucked them to the floor. If he was being fair, things wouldn’t have gone quite so badly had he not stolen one of their fruits. He regretted it now, but, at the time, seeing it glow against the backdrop of a bloody battle, had seemed a sign. More than that, though, he wanted it. Inexplicably, it was something he found he desired as soon as he laid eyes on it. He’d only managed to take one, though, when the winged vermin decided to target him instead of their cat fiends. 

It would have been so easy to kill them if all if he’d actually tried. He had no fondness for the things, especially when they made it their mission to kill him first, and it only would have cost him a flick of the wrist and some obscure pain later on. But, instead, he’d given up, sneaking away from the fight and into the first portal he could find to get back to Jefferson and his hat. For whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to kill any of them. He made a mess of them, true, but they were still alive. 

A small, distressed smile quirked up the corner of his lips. Well, perhaps he did know the reason. And it had everything to do with how guilty he would feel, facing his little housekeeper with the blood of fairies under his claws. Not guilt for showing the creatures no mercy – guilt over seeing her blue eyes fall in disappointment. How they might lose some of the sparkle they held when she looked at him. It was worrisome that that mattered to him at all, but it did, and there was no use lying to himself about it. He couldn’t kill something that hadn’t personally wronged him and face her. 

Still, he reminded himself with a shake of his head, he should’ve at least checked that the fruit was useful before he wasted all that time trying to get back with it.

Tiredly, he hefted the huge thing up, preparing to toss it at the nearest wall. Useless it may be, but he was relatively sure that the loud splat it would make might at least ease some of his tension.

CRASH!

Rumple sprang to his feet. For a fraction of a second, he worried about intruders, or that idiotic hatter coming back with another plan, and he filled his free hand with a cloud of purple smoke, ready to fend them off. Then a scream followed the noise, and his anger fled, replaced instantaneously by panic. That wasn’t an intruder’s voice – that was Belle’s. 

He didn’t pause, didn’t bother with it, only lifted his hand, still sparkling with dust, and vanished on the spot. When the smoke cleared, he was only slightly surprised to find himself at the bottom of the tower staircase. By that time, though, his attention had been arrested by the small woman crumpled on the floor below him, arm clutched to her chest and a tea tray overturned at her side. 

The fruit made a heavy clang as he threw it to the side, probably knocking over even more of the tea things, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Instead, he knelt beside his maid, sweeping her hair from her face as he helped her sit up.

“Are you alright, dearie?”

She was still holding her arm, and an embarrassed blush had covered her face, but at least she nodded. He let his heart beat a little again. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she murmured, shaking her head at herself. He pretended he didn’t smell the scent of honey in her hair. “It was my own stupid fault for being so clumsy. You’d think I would know better than to step on that loose tile by now.”

He nodded dumbly, trying to focus her elbow instead of her lilting voice. Not that it was hard, once he saw the damage. A long cut edged along the entire bone, leaving a small pucker of blood all over her flesh. How she’d hurt herself like this just from falling he had no idea, but he did know that he couldn’t allow it to happen again. Had he not been home, she might’ve bled out on the steps. Or worse. 

His eyebrows furrowed, and he leant quickly over her skin, moving his fingers over it until the wound healed itself. He kept himself close, not quite daring to touch but near enough that he could see the job was done properly. Another string of magic, meanwhile, wound itself around the castle, insuring that Belle would never be able to hurt herself in its walls again. A sting in his palm as the spells were finished reminded him that there would be a price, but, for the safety of his maid, he couldn’t imagine anything that wouldn’t be worth it. 

A grim smile touched his mouth. He raised his head, lips parted to tell her she was all better and perhaps some quip about fixing her two left feet, too. The moment he did, though, she turned her head as well, and suddenly she was much too close. Her hair – and he didn’t deny the sweet smell this time, though he refused to give into the desire to lean into it – brushed his nose. Something about him must’ve given him away, though, for her voice, just as slowly as his had, died off. He wasn’t the only one who’d gone rigid anymore.

His throat tightened. He wanted to apologize, or push her away, or anything that would keep himself safe, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when the alternative was allowing the moment to continue. 

Her cheeks had taken on a brighter shade of pink, and he knew that it had to be because he was worrying her. He’d never stared at her this long before. He’d purposely never stared at her so long before. And when her eyelashes blinked open again, revealing the beauty behind them, he realized why. If he stared at them for longer than a moment, he knew he’d be lost to them. They were so… blue. That had to be different. He’d have noticed if they were always that bright, that colorful. He was sure he would’ve noticed. 

But then, he’d never been so close to her before. 

There were just a few breaths between them. He knew – he could feel every one of them on his face. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, the scratch of her hairs in his face, the soft silk of her nightgown under his fingers.

Nightgown… 

His musings fell short. “Be – dearie,” he corrected. His voice was deeper than he was used to it being, and he prayed, even though he knew better, that she didn’t notice. “Why on earth are you in my tower dressed like this?”

Something flickered across her face, a look as if she’d lost something and didn’t know how to get it back. He knew that look well enough – he felt that he wore it perpetually.

“I… you, uh, you woke me up,” she whispered. “When you came back. I heard you in your tower. I was just coming up to welcome you back.”

Perplexed, he turned to the window, one of many Belle had managed to uncover by now. Sure enough, the sky outside was dark, speckled only by a scant handful of stars. It had to be nearly midnight. 

His eyes narrowed as he turned back to face her.

“It’s late. Why would you come at all?” he asked softly. 

“Because I missed you.”

The air in his lungs seemed to disappear just as quickly as he ever had by magic. She missed him? But… why? What was there about him to miss? He barked orders at her or, on his better days, outright ignored her. He was a hideous, lunatic of a dark sorcerer. There was nothing about him to miss. 

There was nothing about her that liked, though. She’d wet her lips like she was nervous, cast her eyes down as if she were too embarrassed to see him face-to-face. She wasn’t fighting back a smile. He tried to force himself to ignore it. Regardless of what her body language sad, she couldn’t possibly be telling the truth. This was some odd act.

And yet…

He shook his head and, only pausing to make sure he wouldn’t hurt her, pushed Belle aside. 

“Well, you’re good as new, dearie,” he said, faking a yawn to cover up the tremor in his voice. “Best if we both went to sleep, I think.”

Without another word, he stood to his feet, leaving her bundled there as he turned on his heel.

As he marched around corner to his room, realizing only belatedly that it would’ve been much easier to just apparate there, a small, sad sigh met his ears. He considered, however briefly, turning back to see her, to see if she really was upset that he was leaving her again. But, at the last second, he forced himself to keep going. 

She’s happy to see you gone, he told himself. It was only your imagination.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t just lust.

In daylight, it was easy to pretend that that was it. He was just curious about his little maid. Curious about her curves and her shy smile. Curious about why she neither lusted for his power like Cora had nor scorned and cowered from him like everyone else. Curious about how she could look at him so openly with those bright blue eyes and touch him, really touch him, every time she came near. 

But, in the dead of night, when he finally allowed his mind to rest, he couldn’t lie to himself so easily. 

He felt… something, for Belle. Something deep, and powerful, that he refused to name lest it break him. Names held power. After all, he only persisted in using phrases like “housekeeper” and “maid” and “dearie” to describe her because they were safe. Objective. Distant. Names held power, and for him to speak hers, to admit that he cared enough say it to her, would be his downfall. To admit to even himself what he felt would be far worse.

At least, it would be if he admitted it while he was awake. 

With a slow, flick of his wrist, Rumple closed his eyes and curled into his mattress. It was foolish, impatient, to use magic on something so trivial as making himself fall asleep, but he couldn’t help it. Not after a day like today. In his dreams – those gifted to himself by magic, not the nightmares that came to him naturally – he could pretend away his failures to find Bae. He could pretend that his son was only a hair’s breadth from being found. 

He could pretend that Belle felt something for him, and that she’d accept him if he came into her bed.

Those fantasies were too wonderful for him to wait even another moment to imagine. 

He rolled onto his stomach and let the tendrils of smoke fill his head. 

“Rumple… oh, Rumple…”

“Belle?” he hummed, stalking her voice down the corridor. He knew she was waiting for him somewhere, longing to be satisfied in a way that only he could provide. He just had to find her first. 

“Rumple… I’m close…”

The words made him moan, his cock straining uncomfortably in his leathers. Eyes narrowed, he turned the next corner, unsurprised but happy to find that it led to his own room. 

Then he saw Belle, laid out for him on his mattress, and any thought that wasn’t about her fled his mind. 

She was ready for him, her pretty silk nightdress drawn up past her hips, her legs parted so he could see everything between them. Starlight glistened over her curls, showing how wet she was for him, and a low groan left him even as his mouth watered. She looked delicious.

“Come on to bed,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

The words were like magic.

As in dreams, his clothes miraculously vanished of their own accord as he climbed onto the sheets to lay beside her. The smile on her face widened as she looked at him. Not disgusted to have him there, not afraid – happy. Nothing, he thought, could be better than this.

And then she crawled down his body, and wrapped her hand around him.

Rumple’s eyes rolled back in his head, fingers all but yanking out his hair as he clutched it for dear life. This wasn’t something he’d ever considered. In his fantasies, he was always the one who touched her, if she allowed it. He was disgusting, not a creature to be worshipped, like her.

Even in dreams, he knew better than to question a gift like this. 

“Mmm, Belle,” he moaned. “That’s it. Good.” 

Breath ragged, he fisted his hands in the sheets, clenching them in time with the rhythm of her palm. Her name left him, an allowance, a weakness, he only made in his dreams (and yes, he knew he was dreaming – with or without magic, he would’ve known that this was too good to be reality). But his sweet little Belle only smiled wider, and plucked his head with her fingertips.

A jolt went through his body, some of the fogginess permeating his brain beginning to clear. He allowed it for only a moment before he realized that it was taking Belle away from him, removing her face and his dream as he woke up. He gripped the illusion with both hands and held on.

“Rumple,” Belle purred, her voice ghosting over him like a warm breeze. It felt so real, and he begged himself to stay asleep so he could keep it. “Rumple, wake up.”

The world went a little darker, his dim imaginings fading away, and he shook his head, reaching wearily for her face.

“No,” he pleaded. “Let me stay with you. Please, just a few more minutes.”

She shook her head, even as the features of her face began to dull. 

“Rumple… Rumple, wake up…”

He clawed at it desperately, willing himself to hold the picture of her eyes, the warmth of her fingers, but it was too late. With a fluttering of his eyelids, the room became dark instead of candlelit, and heat turned into cold. 

Rumple blinked, searching for Belle’s pretty face. The memory of her remained, just like it always did after he’d stared at her for so long, but he could not call her back. He was alone.

And he was still hard. 

With a groan, he banged his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. If he could, he would just stay like that and drift back to sleep, find her face in his mind and stare at it with the longing he tried so hard to hide in his waking hours. But that was an impossibility. There would be no sleeping now, not after so lurid a dream as that. The only option he had left, it seemed, was to take matters into his own hand. 

Sighing, he dropped his fingers from his hair and trailed them down the sheet towards his hips. No sooner had his claws grazed his hip, though, a sensation so wrong that it made him wince, that he felt something else entirely. Something that decidedly didn’t belong to him, brushing up and across the tip of his cock. 

Adrenaline burst through him, dimming the sound halfway between a yelp and a curse that left his mouth. He didn’t deliberate for even a moment, backing himself bodily into the headboard and ripping the sheets off his legs. 

And then, holding the covers aloft with one hand, froze. 

In his bed, laid between his thighs like a serpent in wait, was his own gorgeous little Belle. 

He stared at her, bug-eyed and delirious, before promptly slamming his lids shut and shaking his head. This wasn’t real. It was just a bug on him. He was still groggy with sleep, still imagining things that weren’t there. No, it was just some creeping insect, and he’d feel embarrassed all day for screaming like a girl over it. This was all in his head. 

Slowly, he blinked open his eyes. And, in response, Belle curled her finger a little tighter around his tip. 

His legs went rigid, locking beneath him. He wasn’t dreaming – she was really here. 

Shaking, his hands carded through his hair. “B-Belle,” he choked. “Why are… what’s going on?”

Belle smiled at him, that same glowing thing he was so used to saying in daylight hours. But she didn’t answer. Instead, her index finger, soft and warm, tapped against the opening of his cock. His blood sung.

“Glad you woke up,” she hummed groggily. “You were saying my name.” 

Something about her tone seemed off, somehow wrong, but, then, this whole thing was wrong so who was he to question it. Nevertheless, he lent forward, breath ragged, and tugged on her shoulder. He was a monster sure enough, but not one bad enough to allow this to go on.

“Stop. Please, why are you doing this?”

Her eyes didn’t meet his, still glued to the thick skin beneath her fingers. A sliver of humiliation chased down his body. Could she not just leave? Just let him be and let him pretend that she’d never made him so ashamed? 

She licked her lips slowly, and even that made him twitch disgracefully. “I wanted to,” she murmured. “I’ve always wanted to see what a man looked like. Especially you. I’ve wanted to see you since I started working here.”

If he’d thought his eyes were wide before, they were nothing compared to how they bulged now. She… wanted this? Him? But that wasn’t possible.

Discreetly, he moved his claws to the side of his hip and pinched, hard. The resulting sting made him bite his tongue. No, he wasn’t still dreaming – possible or not, this was happening. 

He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say but determined to say something. Before he could even begin, though, she lurched off her stomach, resting now on his knees, and his thoughts scattered. She wasn’t wearing a thing. Not a single stitch of clothing. 

Her breasts were fuller, her nipples pinker and tauter, than he’d ever imagined. 

She was slow, shaking, but still steady in her motions as she raised herself on her knees. The candlelight flickered over her mound, sparkling on the moist, brown curls he’d never seen outside his dreams. Glistened over her fingertips, as she finally rose all the way above him and took his cock between trembling thumbs. His head felt dizzy. 

She silenced the low moan building in his throat with a hard flick to the side of his head. His foreskin sprung back, or the tip sprung forward, twitching for more of her touch. Groaning, he lifted himself from the pillows, trying to toss her off on his way up. But she was having none of it – again, her fingernail traced over the very head, dipping into the crevice where his seed would eventually spurt if she kept going, and his eyes rolled all the way back in his head. 

“I really like touching you,” she muttered, still using that same odd tone from before. “The skin is hotter than I thought it would be. And so soft.” 

She plucked him again, gentle as ever, and he sprang straight up from the mattress. She wasn’t rubbing him, didn’t even have her whole hand around him, but it was already enough to make him cum. Much as she said she liked this, there was no way she could appreciate being covered in his filth. 

Shuddering, he forcibly removed her fingers from his cock. A low, disappointed noise left her lips, and she reached for him again with her free hand before he grabbed it, too. 

“Stop!” he shouted, voice deep with lust and desperation both. “Just… just stop.” 

She whined, clenching her feet against the mattress and squirming enough that her moist curls brushed against his. But, miraculously, she otherwise did as he said – her hands fell limp in his grasp. 

He sighed, slumping forward in exhaustion. That quickly turned out to be a mistake, though, especially when his goal was to come up with a plan to fix this. Bent as he was, he could see every perfect inch of her, from the crease where her hair met her thighs to the small nub of flesh that jutted out beneath. She was throbbing, her clit almost touching his balls she hovered so close to them, and that made his cock spasm all the more. The head of him pierced his stomach, dotting the flesh with every bead of precum she’d milked from him. He looked a mess.

He felt divine. 

He groaned and turned back to her face. He almost expected to see disgust there, whatever madness she’d been suffering from faded and replaced by rational hatred. He almost wanted that – at least that would make sense. But no – she was still staring at him, lip clenched hard between her teeth, pleading with those big, cloudy grey eyes. 

Grey…

His thoughts stilled. Belle’s eyes were blue. They were always blue – gorgeous, hypnotizing, open. Never grey. And never clouded. 

His eyebrows drew together in concern. 

“Belle,” he started, “have you touched anything of mine today?”

Her hands twitched in his, but he managed to hold them steady. 

“Just… just this,” she whined, pushing her clit against his cock. “Can I touch more?” 

Blood filled his mouth. A moment later, he realized he’d bitten clean through his tongue. 

Glaring, he clenched her wrists a little tighter.

“Stop that! Now, answer me – have you touched anything magical today? Even by accident?”

At his shout, she flinched away. A sliver of guilt swam up his spine, but he refused to let it soften him – this was not his Belle, and he would find out why.

“I… no. No, no. Just you,” she stammered. “Wanna touch more, please –”

“Did you let anyone in here while I was gone? Did you go into my tower? Concentrate!” 

She sniffled, tears beading in her eye even as she bucked against him. He felt sick.

“N-no. No one came. I didn’t go anywhere. Please, please, can I touch you now? Please…” 

Groaning, Rumple closed his eyes, shutting out her and his own traitorous body. His hands – and hers – clamped over his ears like a child to drown out her voice.

She said she hadn’t touched anything, he reminded himself, and, regardless of her current mental state, he didn’t think she was lying. No signs of a curse marred her hands, and her aura was just as surprisingly untainted. Regina could’ve been involved, of course, but, again, Belle said no one had come, and a quick examination of the castle with his magic proved that all of his mirrors were still covered. The only other thing he could think of was that she’d eaten something, but even that didn’t make any sense. He never left cursed food or drink just lying about in his castle, and if she hadn’t been in his tower… unless…

His eyes flashed open. 

“Belle… did you eat anything odd today?”

Her eyes were still glued to their hips, the incessant twitch of his balls every time she shifted overtop him. 

He coughed, the roughness in his throat making it more of a growl, but it got her attention all the same. 

“Belle, listen to me – did you eat something tonight before you went to bed?”

“I didn’t go to bed, came right here so I could be with you. So close –”

“A fruit? Was there a fruit, Belle?”

“Just want to please you –”

“BELLE!”

She whimpered, all but folding in on herself even as he held her. “I… I think I ate… yes, fruit. Fruit on my tray,” she mumbled. 

A low, hoarse sob left his throat. Belle’s hands twitched towards him again, her own mouth curling up as if she were about to cry herself, but her compassion only made it worse. He had done this to her – him. He’d taken that fucking fruit with him when he went to check on her, and now she was under the grips of some lust-inducing enchantment. And it was all, entirely, because of him. 

He sighed, pushing his nausea, his guilt, away as he pulled her torso an inch closer. Carefully, he let go of her hands to rest on his shoulders, moving his own to prod at her temples. At least he knew what he was up against now. With any luck, that also meant he could heal her. 

She shifted, curling her fingers on his muscles, and his eyes shot back to her face. “Don’t move,” he commanded, pressing his nails a little further. “I’m going to look at something, and you aren’t to move.”

She huffed like a petulant child, so very unlike herself that it was almost comical. 

Or would’ve been, were it not his fault. 

Hesitation shot, he took a deep breath, clamped his hands tight around her skull, and delved n. 

There had only been a handful of other times that he’d done this – the Seer who’d prophesized his undoing, a few tiring souls who thought they could break their deals with him. And, every time, their minds had been mazes full of memories and hopes and fleeting thoughts. He expected nothing less from Belle’s. Indeed, being the most intelligent person he’d ever met, he expected a little more from her head. 

But all he found, the only thing present in her mind at all, was thick, heavy fog. No barriers, no walls, no mazes – just a swarm of free-roaming thoughts pulsing rapidly against her brain. 

His head was already beginning to ache, but he pushed on regardless. Nothing about this was natural, not even for someone who’d been cursed. Magic left blockages - thick streams of wrong and darkness that wound around everything good in a person’s soul and splintered it.

Belle was blank. Her curse, it seemed, wasn’t locking her away - instead, it was opening her up. Her impulses, her ideas - none of it was held back, none of it nailed down. Her thoughts were free from pretense.

And that meant… that meant, unbelievably… that this was entirely her own choice.

Rumple yanked his hands away from her scalp and shook his head. No, he was just deluding himself. He was still dreaming. He’d wake up soon and realize he was all alone. She couldn’t want him. She couldn’t want this. She…

She was touching him again.

With an embarrassing mewl, he lunged forward and grabbed her wrists. His thighs clamped down on her, holding her and her moist, hot body at bay.

But then he felt her breath ghost over his navel, her tongue lapping at his waist, and he realized his mistake. 

“Belle!” he squeaked. “You don’t – no – stop –”

She laughed, sending another warm gust over his skin, and damn if his eyes didn’t roll back in their sockets. Dimly, he thought to himself that he never would’ve guessed she was so flexible.

“I do, though. I really, really want to do this. I always think about you. I care about you.”

“But you don’t…” Her words caught up with him; his heart stopped. “Wait. You… what?”

Belle scooted lower still, her tongue sliding down his thigh. “I said I care about you,” she repeated. “You always look so sad, and lonely. I just want you to be happy. Doesn’t this help? It always does in my books.”

He choked, running shaking fingers through his hair. “What books have you been reading?”

She didn’t answer. Curious – and, above all, terrified, if he were being honest with himself – he looked down to see what had stilled her. He almost wished he hadn’t – her eyes, her mouth, were intently focused on his cock. 

“How do you walk around in such tight pants?” she whimpered. “You’re too thick for them.” 

He groaned. “Only when you’re around.” 

Rumple tugged his fingers from his hair, shaking himself desperately as he placed them back on Belle’s head. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be encouraging this, he should be finding a cure. Even if she hadn’t said she cared about him, he knew he cared about her, and that the least he could do was offer her some respect.

Breathing deep, he prepared to probe into her mind once more. But then she lifted her head, her eyes boring deep into his, and his body went stiff. He didn’t have to enter her mind again to see the solution – it was written right there. This was an enchantment that had to wear off on its own. 

In order for it to go away, she had to have what she wanted.

Rigid, he leaned down until their faces were almost touching.

“Belle, I… I have to know,” he stammered. “Is this… is that really what you want?”

She didn’t hesitate even for a moment. Pressed against him, skin to skin, she shook her head and smiled. “Yes,” she said fervently. “Just you.” 

For one moment, just a single, short moment, her eyes flashed that brilliant blue he was so in love with. 

It was still wrong. Still immoral. But, for just that moment, it was enough proof for him.

With a short, shaking nod, he leaned back against the mattress, and let her free. 

She didn’t bother being slow with him, didn’t bother building up with slow touches or gentle licks. Instead, his Belle dove in head first, quite literally, and sucked the whole tip of him into her mouth.

With a shout, he sucked his lip between his teeth and slammed his fist against the headboard. Her lips left him at once, making a thick “plop” as his cock fell free, and if he hadn’t already lost it, that would’ve gotten rid of his sanity. 

“Was that not good?” she hummed. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

He bit harder into his lip. “N-no, good,” he rasped. “Very, very good. Just… too much.” 

She paused. A self-satisfied smirk pulled at her lips, but only for a second before she bent back down and flicked her tongue over him.  
“Better?” 

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t, really. But the twisted expression on his face must’ve been enough for her, because she didn’t stop. One hand clasped at his base, she moved inexpertly over his head, tonguing him until he was soaking wet with her saliva. His hand gripped the sheets lest they tear into her hair. 

“You taste nice,” she mumbled. “Almost like licorice.”

He snorted, torn between amusement and utter ecstasy.

“I can’t say I’ve heard that one before.” She grazed him with her teeth this time, pulling at his foreskin, and a whistle of air passed his lips. “You can… a little more. If you want.” 

She complied at once, taking him in down to his middle.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned. “Good. Good, please…”

She bit him again, too soft to hurt but hard enough to excite, and that promptly shut him up. 

Her hands, the one on him and the one on his hip, grasped him tighter, even as her teeth dragged over the sensitive vein underneath. 

His moans, uncontrollable now, drove her on. Without being told, she sucked him a little deeper, hollowing her cheeks so he could feel her surround him. It would be better, he knew, to be inside her, to feel what it was to have her cunt grip him at the height of their completion, her juices running down his thighs, but this was more than good enough on its own. Her tongue, inexperienced as it was, ran quick, fluttered over him as her cheeks held him in place, her teeth continuing that delicious dance around his foreskin and his tip. He wondered, briefly, what kind of books she’d been reading, before her hands left him entirely and he was sucked whole into her mouth. 

He hadn’t realized he was close until he felt his balls draw up in their sac, pushing just as tight at him as her mouth. She ducked down again, her beautiful curls spread over his thighs as she sucked, and they bobbed with her. 

She left him with a solid pop that left him heaving.

“What is it?” she asked thickly. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, holding himself still so he wouldn’t force her back down. 

“No, just leave it,” he begged. “I’m close, please –”

“Close to what?” 

His eyes bugged open, face hot with fever. “I’m… I’m gonna cum, Belle,” he said, praying that she wouldn’t notice how he blushed. “Please, I’m just there.”

A second, one of the longest in his life, passed, and she still didn’t return to his cock. But her hands did, holding him tip and base, while her head dropped ever lower. He didn’t have time to ask what she was doing before those beautiful lips, teeth, and tongue, touched his bollocks. 

He shot straight up, cursing loudly as he gripped the sheets. His balls were in her mouth, balanced on her tongue, and the pleasure was more than he could bear. No one had ever done this for him before. No one had ever bothered to do something so sweet, so gentle, as to take his balls into their mouth and hold him there. But Belle did. Belle, who said she cared about him, and, deep in her mind, only wanted to make him happy. 

That was enough to bring him over the edge. 

With a muffled scream, he arched his hips off the bed and spilled himself, coating everything in thick, white ropes as fell apart. One of his hands wound down to her face, caressing her lips in what he hoped was a thankful way. Somewhere, in the midst of his pleasure, he felt her let go of his cock, pressing a final, lasting lick to his bollocks, and climb up his body to cradle him. 

“This is what I wanted,” she whispered into his ear. “Just for you to be happy.” 

Boneless, he fell back against her, shaking like a leaf in her arms. Sticky spunk covered his skin, lining the insides of his knees, the creases of his hips, even the tips of his fingers. Belle’s feet, wrapped around his knees, were covered, too. 

Still trembling, he turned his head to look into her eyes. They were the same grey as before, that same cursed look on her face, but he could see it beginning to fade. In just a few hours, maybe even a few minutes, she would be back to normal. 

He caressed her arm with his fingertips, and a dazzling smile touched her mouth. Her eyes might not be right quite yet, but they weren’t clouded anymore. They were happy. Blissful. More than he’d ever seen in the months that she’d been with him.

He cleared his throat. He should say something. Apologize, perhaps, for taking advantage of her. Promise that he would never mention it again.

But then she was grinning again, just as sweet, and rolled them onto their sides. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

Spooned against him, she pressed soft, endless kisses to his temples. His eyes fluttered shut with pleasure.

“Belle,” he finally managed. “Belle, I… I care about you, too.”

His only answer was a lazy kiss and a brush of air.

Eyebrows furrowed, he turned in her arms, grunting at the effort, and looked into her face.

“Belle? Did you hear me?”

His voice choked, his words wasted – she was already sleeping.

He stared at her a moment longer, watching her hair move across her chest as she breathed. Then, with a quiet curse, he again closed his eyes and snuggled into her body. 

His shaking arm wound around her waist, holding her close as he dared. His other hand found a place on her cheek, petting gentle circles into it in her sleep. It was as close to a declaration of his feelings that he was willing to try for again.

Tomorrow, maybe, he would admit to what he’d said. More likely, though, he’d take the coward’s way out and wipe the entire sordid event from their memories. But for tonight… tonight, he would be selfish. He’d fall asleep in her arms, safe in the knowledge that somewhere inside her, somehow… she needed him just like he needed her.


End file.
